


all tangled up in string stained crimson

by lizardhair



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Background Relationships, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Complicated Relationships, Dom/sub Undertones, Drinking & Talking, Exhaustion, Gen, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, One-Sided Attraction, Red String of Fate, Secret Identity, Secrets, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, Villains, at first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2020-12-20 18:16:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21061067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizardhair/pseuds/lizardhair
Summary: Roman Sionis took another sip of whiskey, minding the teeth of his mask. “I suppose that I simply do not understand you, Mr. Wilson.” He replaced his glass on the ebony desktop, the action as final as the descent of a guillotine blade.“The world’s most deadly mercenary,” Sionis continued, his voice low, “Cannot manage to kill the Red Hood. It makes no sense.” A pause as Sionis flicked a nonexistent bit of lint from his black leather gloves. “Explain that to me, Deathstroke. I’m interested in what you have to say.”---With all the loopholes he's jumped through, Slade Wilson knew it was only a matter of time before he ended up with one as a noose around his neck. How (un)fortunate for him, then, that Black Mask is good at tying knots.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you can't find content for your horrible ship, homemade is fine.

Roman Sionis took another sip of whiskey, minding the teeth of his mask. “I suppose that I simply do not  _ understand _ you, Mr. Wilson.” He replaced his glass on the ebony desktop, the action as final as the descent of a guillotine blade.

Slade Wilson, sitting unmasked on the other side of Sionis’ desk, only studied his own drink.

“The world’s most  _ deadly _ mercenary,” Sionis continued, his voice low, “Cannot manage to kill the Red Hood. It makes no sense.” A pause as Sionis flicked a nonexistent bit of lint from his black leather gloves. “Explain that to me, Deathstroke. I’m interested in what you have to say.”

Wilson stared over the other man’s shoulder, out the window and into Gotham’s obsidian night. No stars were visible, of course, only the hollow glow of skyscraper windows and the blinking red dots that warned of the metal leviathans’ presence. When Wilson spoke, it was with a flat affectation. He wondered how noticeable the shadow under his eye was in the room’s dim lighting.

“Killing the Red Hood is not in my contract, Mr. Sionis.” He would not call Sionis  _ sir-- _ Wilson was all too aware of what kind of people referred to Black Mask with that title. “You hired me to be your bodyguard.”  _ Just as you hire anyone who will do anything for money. I simply come with a higher price tag than most. _

Sionis made an amused noise in the back of his throat. “But there’s nothing in our contract saying you have to let him live, now is there?”

“No, Mr. Sionis...there is not.”

Sionis rose to his feet. “Then  _ why,” _ he said, voice dropping to something darker than dark, “Did you not put a  _ bullet _ through the brat’s skull when you fought him an hour ago? You certainly had the  _ chance.” _

“Yes,” murmured Wilson. “I did, didn’t I?” He watched as Sionis stepped out from behind the desk, but what he  _ saw _ was Red Hood diving for cover in the warehouse, the man’s broken helmet and dark hair and the furious, frantic eye beneath the two. The iris is Lazarus Pit green, and that is when Wilson  _ knows. _

He wonders if Batman knows. If  _ Nightwing _ knows. Knows if their broken, bloodied bird has come back from the grave to send others to their own. Wilson wishes  _ he _ didn’t know. It would have been so much easier that way. He would have killed Red Hood, but he would not kill Jason Todd. He would not kill Dick Grayson’s brother. 

_ This is what happens when you get tangled up in the intricacies of connections. Of people. _

He had somehow ended up an occasional ally of the Titans, but he’d reasoned he could handle it. These people were Joey’s friends, his  _ son’s friends. _ Besides, there weren’t  _ that  _ many members on the team. 

But then new connections began to form. New teammates, new allies, new relationships. New threads in an ever-growing spider’s web that seemed hell-bent on  _ making things complicated. _ More people that his wretched heart made him  _ care about. _

Wilson would never admit it out loud, especially not to Wintergreen or Joey or Rose, but he finds himself missing the days when he  _ didn’t _ care about anyone. About himself. It was a terrible way to live--it was scarcely a life at all--but he knows why he preferred it: he had no bonds to break. Espcially not the kind that broke by him fucking up.

And now, here he is, in Black Mask’s penthouse, in the dead of night, caught in the spider’s web with bats and birds and and heroes and villains and vigilantes and--

Sionis sat down on his desk, perching himself directly in front of Wilson. “Penny for your thoughts?” Sionis said, purring like a wild cat that had just bitten into a warm carcass.

Wilson closed his eye so as to not to have to look at Sionis’ belt buckle--or anything below it. He was tired. Tired of thinking, of working for Sionis, of  _ everything. _ Maybe the Joker had it right: no tortured past, no nagging conscious; nothing but chaos and a clown’s cheerful smile. 

Wilson spoke, voice emotionless despite it all. “My thoughts, Mr. Sionis, are worth more than a penny.”

Eye still shut, Wilson brought his glass to his mouth and drank. The whiskey tasted expensive. He swallowed it all, and heard Sionis’ tailored suit shift against varnished wood.

"Hm. You have yet to answer my question, Mr. Wilson.”

Wilson dropped the empty glass when Sionis wound his gloved fingers into Wilson’s silver hair and  _ pulled. _ Head forced back and eye wide open, Wilson met Sionis’ unreadable gaze and found himself able to think only,  _ Good the glass didn’t break. It’s probably part of a set. _

Then Sionis was speaking.

“Why didn’t you kill the Red Hood, Slade?” He sounded almost playful. “Do you feel some passing affection for him, is that it? Does Deathstroke have a boytoy?”

He could overpower Sionis in an instant. Wilson knew this as surely as he knew that he had no desire to do so. 

_ I am so very tired. _

“No, Mr. Sionis.”

“Than  _ what is it?” _ Sionis pulled Wilson’s head back farther, examining the seated mercenary’s face. “I’m not a fan of  _ 20 Questions…” _ Sionis laughed. “Particularly not when there are much better things I could be playing with you.”

Wilson averted his eye at that, prompting another chuckle from Sionis.

“Would wearing a blindfold make it easier for you? I won’t be offended if you say yes.”

“...Precious few things,” Wilson said, “Have been easy for me lately.”

Sionis appeared to grin as he bent closer to Wilson. “And that includes,” he breathed, mouth now only centimeters from Wilson’s ear, “Killing Gotham’s newest vigilante, doesn’t it?”

Wilson could feel the strings constricting around him, could see the monstrous crimson web expanding to ensnare Sionis.  _ But that, I suppose, is exactly what Black Mask has wanted. _

“Yes,” Wilson whispered. “It does, Mr. Sionis.” 

_ “Why?” _

The other man’s exhalation was hot against Wilson’s skin, whiskey and wealth and power so maddeningly suffocating.

He could tell him. Tell Sionis the truth about Todd and Grayson and Wayne and a hundred others. Watch the ripples spread across the web as the flies thrashed. Finally tie that blood-red string into a noose around his own neck. 

But Slade Wilson never told the truth. 

“Red Hood…”

Deathstroke dealt in half-truths, versions of the truth. It might take him years to admit full truths even to himself. Tonight, it had taken him just over an hour and a half.

_ Dark hair under a mask, eyes full of hate. Flame-bright flashes of a young man willing to fight the entire world--and burn in the process. _

Sionis could never know one truth, but he could know another. He could know Deathstroke’s. Wilson would hang himself, but the rest of the web would be undisturbed. There was some solace in that.

“Red Hood reminds me of my son,” Wilson said quietly. “My son Grant.” 

Sionis straightened back up, releasing his hold on Wilson’s hair; the mercenary’s head dropped like a marionette with its strings cut. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Sionis.”  _ I’m sorry, Grant. _

“For what?”

“For my…”  _ Failure. _ “Unprofessionalism.” 

Roman Sionis considered the other man for a short eternity. He really did appear exhausted. When Sionis placed a finger under Wilson’s chin and tilted his face up, he found a half-lidded eye and a blank expression. Sionis smiled.

“I will consider accepting your apology.” Sionis took a sip of whiskey. “Tell me what happened to Grant.”

_ Keep his name out of your mouth, _ Wilson thought at Sionis, a dull pulse of anger fading as quickly as it had come. He had no fight left in him. Not tonight.

“Grant died. When he was 19.” 

Sionis brushed a thumb across Wilson’s cheek. “How?” 

“You don’t deserve to know.” Wilson didn’t manage to put any real venom in his words.  _ What would be the point, anyway? _ He was only stalling. Staving off further painful emotions. He suspected Sionis would grow tired of this faux-gentle interrogation soon.

“And  _ you, _ ” Sionis said, “Ought to remember who is in charge here. Whose  _ commands _ you obey.”

He backhanded Wilson across the face, hard.

“Who is  _ paying _ you.”

A leather-gloved hand around Wilson’s throat.

“And who you made a  _ contract _ with.”

The hand tightened.

_ That was fast, _ thought Wilson. He made no attempt to struggle in Sionis’ grip. 

“Whether I  _ deserve _ to know is irrelevant. If I ask you a question, you answer it--with the truth.” Sionis straightened his tie with his free hand. “I say  _ “jump,” _ you say,  _ “how high?” _ It’s simple.” Razor’s-edge laughter as Sionis further tightened his hold around Wilson’s neck. “Simple enough that I shouldn’t be having to teach you.”

With darkness starting to gnaw at his vision, Wilson choked out a joyless chuckle in return.  _ Here we go. _

“Tell me something, Mr. Sionis: do you enjoy this  _ more--” _ a rasping breath “--or  _ less _ if I don’t fight back?”

A small eternity of silence. Wilson could sense the gears turning in Sionis’ head:  _ keep trying to pry his armor open, or have some  _ real _ fun? _ When Wilson saw a pink flash of tongue from under Sionis’ mask, he knew the choice had been made. The string linking he and Sionis was dyed crimson, but not with love.

_ “Well...” _ Sionis pretended to mull the question over. “In your case, it’s about the same.” He ran his thumb back and forth along Wilson’s lower lip. “Though I’d get the  _ most _ enjoyment out of having your wrists bound to my headboard and a spreader bar between your legs.”

_ Seems like the entire goddamn universe wants me tied up, _ Wilson thought hazily. It would have been funny under different circumstances.  _ Who am I kidding? It’s funny under this circumstance, too. _ His lungs were on fire, throat healing even as it was being crushed. Wilson mustered an insolent smirk.

“Do I...still get...t-that blindfold you mentioned earlier?”

It was hard to tell, but for an instant, Sionis appeared almost taken aback. Then he began laughing, letting go of Wilson’s neck a moment later. The mercenary could scarcely hear Sionis over the sound of his own gasping coughs.

“You really are full of surprises, Slade.” Sionis stood and shrugged off his suit coat. “I like that about you. Makes things much more... _ exciting.” _

Wilson offered no resistance when Sionis seized his upper arm, dragging him none-too-gently to his feet.  _ Act the part, _ Wilson told himself, turning his face away when Sionis’ knuckles ghosted over the cheek he had struck.

“Not even a bruise,” mused Sionis. “I’ll have to find a better way of leaving my mark on you.” Wrapping his free arm around Wilson’s waist and pulling him close, Sionis hummed, “A brand would last longer, don’t you think?”

For a moment, Wilson thought-- _ hoped-- _ that he had misheard Sionis. Or that the man was kidding. He’d heard the rumors about what Black Mask did behind closed doors, and none of  _ those _ partners had had a healing factor. 

“You’re funny, Mr. Sionis.”

Hot breath on the side of Wilson’s neck.  _ “I’m not joking.” _

_ Than I’m not acting, _ Wilson realized. He didn’t bother concealing the shiver that ran through him.

Sionis’ laugh was deep enough to reverberate within Wilson’s bones, the dark-honey rumble warm and vulgar. “Don’t be nervous, sweetheart.” A kiss just beneath the mercenary’s jaw. “I know you’ll enjoy it.”

Wilson supposed he should tell Sionis to stop, that he didn’t want what he was being given, what he was being drawn into. Instead, he wordlessly let his head loll back, further exposing his throat to Sionis’ teeth and tongue.

“That’s right; behave for me and everything will be  _ juuust fine…” _

As Sionis led him to the bedroom, Wilson doubted it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come holler at me on lizard-hair.tumblr.com
> 
> Also if I write a chapter 2 for this I'm going to toss myself into outer space in shame.
> 
> Edit June 5 2020: god fucking damn it


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this from beyond Pluto's orbit.

Wilson found some small comfort upon seeing that the rope which Sionis was currently tying to the headboard of his bed was a smooth, rich shade of black.  _ It matches the pillowcases, _ thought Wilson. He swallowed an empty laugh before bending down to unlace his boots. 

When he rose to his full height a few moments later, Wilson found Sionis watching him in the same way that a cat observes a mouse.

“You looked good like that,” said Sionis, and Wilson could hear wine-dark desire in his voice. “Almost as good as you’d look on your knees.”

“That costs extra, Mr. Sionis.” Wilson tossed his jacket on the floor beside his boots. “More than you can afford, in fact.”

“Oh? And here I thought you were doing this for free,” Sionis all but purred. He beckoned to Wilson with one curled finger:  _ come here. _

Face expressionless, Wilson obeyed. He stood stock-still next to the bed as Sionis’ gaze roved over his body. When Sionis began unbuttoning Wilson’s grey dress shirt, the mercenary closed his eye.  _ Sionis knows already, doesn’t he? It’s hardly obvious, but it would be...unfortunate if he didn’t. _

“Sionis--” Wilson cut himself off when he felt the other man’s gloved hand on his bare chest. He wanted to pull away, but that would only land him on the bed.

“You really ought to…” Sionis trailed off, and Wilson imagined him quirking a nonexistent eyebrow. “Jesus Christ. What happened here?”

Sionis was tracing his fingers back and forth along the curve of a scar--one of the few Wilson had that would never heal. Before he spoke, Wilson finished removing his shirt, allowing Sionis to see the scar’s twin on the other side of his chest.

“I apologise, Mr. Sionis. I would have told you before all of this, but I...thought you knew.”

A chuckle. “Honey, I don’t even know  _ what _ I don’t know.”

Lost for words, Wilson was suddenly glad for how dimly lit the room was. His face felt hot.  _ How long has it been since I’ve struggled to tell someone? Decades? Why should-- _ The mercenary was jolted out of his reverie by the sudden appearance of Sionis’ hands on his belt buckle, and he nearly snapped the other man’s wrist out of instinct. As it was, Wilson had seized the offending limb more than hard enough to hurt. He let go with a shake of his head.

“So shy all of a sudden,” chuckled Sionis, toying instead with the button on Wilson’s trousers. “Not that you were particularly sociable  _ before, _ of course…”

_ Say it, _ Wilson thought.  _ Tell him. He needs to know, so put an end to this farce. _

But Wilson remained silent. He loosened Sionis’ tie, not looking at the Rogue as he slid it out from around his neck. When Sionis caught his mouth in a kiss, Wilson made a muffled noise of revulsion before parting his lips in surrender. 

Having Sionis’ tongue in his mouth felt more natural than Wilson would have preferred. The mask, however, was...different. Wilson found its smooth surface somehow both warmer and cooler than he’d expected. It seemed almost ingrained with the scent of whiskey and cologne; enough for Wilson to taste, though not so intense as to be overwhelming. 

The mercenary realized that he felt strangely lightheaded.  _ Hey Sionis, did you drug my drink?  _ Wilson didn’t find the possibility very concerning.  _ Honestly, I’d be impressed if you did: there aren’t many drugs that affect me. _ He made no protest when Sionis bit his lower lip hard enough for it to bleed.  _ Who am I to complain, if it shuts my brain up? I’m so tired of… _

The rest of Wilson’s thought escaped him when something hard brushed against his thigh. He would have leaned away had it not been for the gloved hand on the small of his back.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” said Sionis into Wilson’s burning ear. “We both know you want this.”

_ ‘Want’ this?  _ Wilson thought.  _ No.  _ He undid the top few buttons of Sionis’ black dress shirt with fingers that shook ever-so-slightly. ‘ _ Deserve’ this?  _ Wilson dropped his forehead onto Sionis’ shoulder.  _ Without a doubt. _

Wilson managed to hold still as Sionis ground against his leg.  _ No need for  _ self _ -flagellation if Black Mask is involved, after all. Ha ha. _   


“Aw, honey, are you crying? I haven’t even hurt you yet.”

_Oh,_ realized Wilson. _I must be shaking._ He buried his face in the crook of the other man’s neck, careful to keep his tearless cheeks on Sionis’ shirt collar. Wilson felt more than heard the Rogue’s pleased hum. _But better this than trying to explain why I was laughing, I suppose._

“Y’know, I figured I’d have to try a bit harder to get you clutching at my shirt and whimpering,” Sionis crooned. “Though I can’t say I mind having you like this so soon.”

Wilson sensed a sudden shift in Sionis’ center of gravity, and when Sionis gave him a rough shove backwards, Wilson let himself fall onto the bed. He barely had time to register how opulent the comforter felt before Sionis was bent over him like a predatory beast. A moment too late, Wilson understood what Sionis was about to do.

_ “Wait--” _

But Sionis had already pressed himself against Wilson, his cock hot and hard between Wilson’s legs.

_ Fuck. _ All Wilson could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears as he lay frozen beneath Sionis. At some point Wilson had closed his eye, but he could feel Sionis staring at him. Reconsidering him.

_ Say something, _ Wilson thought at himself.  _ You’re not a deer caught in the headlights of a car, so  _ do _ something.  _ Any _ thing. _

But Sionis beat him to the punch. The Rogue whistled, low and appreciative, as he ran a thumb over Wilson’s bloodied lip.

“Seems like I was right about you, Slade: you are just  _ full _ of surprises.”

Pinned in more ways than one, Wilson could do nothing but bite back a groan when Sionis rolled his hips, sending a rush of heat to Wilson’s face and stomach.

“Been a while, has it?” grinned Sionis, his words a mocking whisper.

Wilson managed a mute nod. It didn’t matter if it was true or not.

“Let’s fix that, then.”

This time Wilson made no protest when Sionis went for the waistband of his trousers.

“You know,” Sionis said conversationally, tugging Wilson’s pants down past his hips, “This doesn’t change anything.”

Wilson let out a monotone laugh. “It doesn’t?” He moved just enough for Sionis to finish undressing him. “Somehow, Mr. Sionis, I find that difficult to believe.”

Sionis’ clothed erection was heavy on Wilson’s inner thigh as he arched over the mercenary to murmur,

“Well, I guess it  _ does _ change what toys I want to use on you, sweetheart.”

To Wilson’s dismay, he felt his pulse quicken. “Careful,” he said, toneless voice less-than steady. “Another one-liner like that and you’ll kill the mood.”

“Doubtful,” retorted Sionis, “Given how badly I want to fuck you.”

_ How candid. _ Wilson shivered. “And what of what I want?”

Quick as an adder, Sionis caught Wilson by the chin; he had little choice but to meet Black Mask’s scorching gaze.

“Either you want this…” Sionis again rolled his hips. “...Or what you want doesn’t matter. Not to me. Understand?”

Wilson couldn’t help it: he smiled. It was only a faint upturn of the corners of his mouth, but with Sionis mere inches away, there was no way it had gone unseen.  _ Might as well commit, then. _

So Wilson raised his head to ghost his lips over Sionis’ mask. He tried to ignore the lust glinting in those shadowed eyes. With a flat affectation, Wilson said,

“I could kill you, Mr. Sionis. Though it might violate our contract...” As predicted, Wilson felt Sionis twitch at his use of  _ violate. _ “I believe I could find a loophole.”

After licking a bit of dried blood from his lower lip, Wilson continued. “Ending your life would be easy for me, regardless of our...current positions. Yet despite this, Mr. Sionis, you insist on making baseless threats.”

There was complete silence once Wilson had finished his speech. Sionis was unreadable, even as his eyes bore into Wilson’s.  _ Why, _ Wilson thought as the seconds drew longer,  _ Couldn’t I have just shut up and let him fuck m-- _

Then there was a hand around Wilson’s throat.

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it a “ _ threat,” _ sweetheart. Consider it more of a  _ promise.” _

Unable to speak--and scarcely able to breathe--Wilson lay limp beneath Sionis, gazing up into the visage of the man’s mask as he suffocated.

“Besides,” Sionis went on, “I suspect that you don’t care what I do to you.” His hold on Wilson’s neck tightened; Wilson gagged. 

“I have this  _ theory, _ you see.” Sionis’ voice had dropped to a rumble. “Would you like to know what it is?”

Though his lips moved silently, what Wilson said was clear:  _ yes, Mr. Sionis. _

Sionis brushed his free hand through the mercenary’s snow-white hair. “That’s a good answer, sweetheart,” he cooed, the praise glinting like a knife’s blade in Wilson’s fading consciousness. “Seeing as how you’re going to help me test it out.”

When Sionis’ weight shifted and the man’s cock pressed fully against his bare form, Wilson choked out a quiet moan.  _ Was this supposed to be an act, or not? I can’t remember. I don’t want to remember. _

At Wilson’s soft whine, Sionis had loosened his grip, evidently pleased by the sound and wanting more. As encouragement, he ground his hips into Wilson’s and captured the mercenary’s mouth with his own.

Wilson had only managed to take a few shallow breaths before Sionis’ tongue was slipping past his lips. He let it, because Sionis was in control, and Wilson didn’t have to think if Sionis was in control--he only had to listen. 

Pity that he’d always had such difficulty not thinking.  _ How bad is it that I wish Sionis  _ had _ drugged my whiskey? It would’ve made things easier. _

Just as suddenly as it had appeared, Sionis’ hand was removed from Wilson’s throat. “I’m going to tie your wrists up now,” the man himself said, breath hot on Wilson’s ear. “Hands above your head, sweetheart.”

Without a word, Wilson did as he was bidden. He had an unwelcome vision of a dog rolling onto its back, tail wagging, vulnerable underside exposed to its faceless master. He could almost hear Sionis murmur _‘g_ _ ood boy.’ _

When the Rogue stood to bind Wilson to the headboard, Wilson swallowed his discomfort and said, “You never told me your theory, Mr. Sionis.” 

Laughing, Sionis finished with the first of the knots before responding. “My  _ theory _ is that everyone with any sort of healing factor is a masochist at heart.” He gave the rope a coy tug. “Do you want that any tighter?”

Wilson flexed his fingers, mind forever calculating:  _ am I able to get out of this? How? How long would it take me to do so? _ Be dispassionate; maintain distance.  _ Thinking, always thinking.  _ He wanted it to stop but--  _ Assess, evaluate, react. Do it quickly. Do it if you wish to stay alive. _ His fingers curled into fists. 

It was only a sudden slap across the face from Sionis that shook Wilson from his trance.

“We  _ talked _ about this, sweetheart. I ask you a question, you answer it. Remember?”

Cheek stinging, Wilson nodded.

“Good. Now,  _ do you want that any tighter? _ ”

“...Yes, Mr. Sionis.”

There were a few minutes of quiet while Sionis made the necessary adjustments. For his part, Wilson was detachedly wondering if he ought to be enjoying this process. As it was, he didn’t feel one way or the other about it. All he could say was that it was...different. After all, he tended to be unconscious while being tied up--and once he awoke, he never stayed bound for long. 

Capturing Deathstroke was one thing;  _ keeping _ him captive was another. 

When Sionis moved to restrain Wilson’s other wrist, he said, “Now, honey...you  _ do _ feel pain, don’t you?”

The Rogue’s faux-questioning tone of voice almost got a bark of laughter out of Wilson. But he’d play along.  _ I mean, why not? _

“What would make you think that I didn’t, Mr. Sionis?”

“The hits you take…” Sionis shook his head as though in sympathy. “The fact that you get up every time, fighting with broken bones and wounds weeping blood.” 

“I simply do what I was made to do.”  _ No matter how or what I feel. _

“Well, I find it impressive nonetheless.” SIonis bent Wilson’s index finger back just shy of the degree necessary to break it. “Makes me want to cut you open...see what makes you tick.”

Wilson kept the muscles of his aching hand relaxed. It would only hurt more if Sionis snapped them while they were tense. “You’d ruin your mattress if you did that, Mr. Sionis.”  _ Why do I feel as though I’m flirting? _ “There would be no small amount of blood.”

Sionis tied off another knot, chuckling. “Oh, sweetheart. Don’t worry about anything like that. You see, I have a special room beneath this building, one that’s all cement. With drains on the floor and hoses on the walls.”

The  _ crack _ of his finger breaking registered in Wilson’s mind before the pain did. When it hit, he let out a pinched exhale, ignoring Sionis’ obvious amusement. “I...I see,” he said, a sort of muted repulsion settling in his stomach. “We’d go there, then?”

"Exactly. But not tonight.” Sionis prodded at Wilson’s damaged finger. “It’s more of a second-date location.”

“And what makes you think,” Wilson murmured, “that I would want to be with you after  _ this _ night, Mr. Sionis?”

Sionis must have bent down just out of his sight, because Wilson suddenly felt the man’s breath hot against his ear.

“Like I said,” Sionis whispered, “what you want doesn’t matter to me.” He pressed what might have been intended as a kiss to the side of Wilson’s neck. “Though I’m quite certain now that you’ll enjoy everything I do to you.”

As Sionis stood to cross behind him, Wilson remained silent. There wasn’t much he could say, anyway.

It was only when Sionis traced his gloved fingers over the scars on Wilson’s chest that Wilson shuddered.

“Cute,” said Sionis. “I didn’t expect you to be able to feel that.”

“I can’t. Not really,” Wilson said. He shrugged as best as he was able with bound arms. “It’s just difficult to repress a shiver when I know you want to cut along the dotted line, so to speak.”

Sionis laughed. “That doesn’t bother you?”

Wilson shook his head. “I’ve become accustomed to it, Mr. Sionis. People have been wanting to dissect me for over 30 years.”  _ Some days I think I should let them. _ “Another perk of being a military science experiment, I suppose.”

“American tax dollars at work, hm?”

“Ha.” Wilson’s grin was equal parts dull and short-lived. “I told you you were funny, Mr. Sions.”

“A sense of humor is invaluable in my line of business, sweetheart.” Sionis strolled around the bed, stopping to stand in front of Wilson. “Whatever happened to yours?”

_ It’s probably taken up residence in Jason Todd’s empty grave, _ thought Wilson.  _ Not that I can tell you that, of course. _ Thankfully, Sionis didn’t seem to be expecting an answer; he was rolling up his shirt-sleeves, clearly considering Wilson’s bound form. 

The Rogue must have liked what he saw, because Wilson heard a satisfied hum as Sionis drew nearer in order to stroke a hand through his hair. In another life, Wilson might have enjoyed the touch. 

Then the fingers paused.

“I think there’s something I’ve forgotten,” Sionis said, the teasing undertone in his voice impossible to miss. “What was it, again…?”

“A safe word?” Wilson suggested, knowing full well it was not the answer Sionis was fishing for.

“No, nothing like that,” Sionis chuckled. He resumed toying with Wilson’s hair. “Not for you, anyway.”

Wilson supposed he should be alarmed by that statement. Some part of him was, judging by the cool dread slinking down his spine, but overall...overall, he was too tired to care.  _ Should that be concerning, too? _

“Ah, I remember now,” said Sionis, his knuckles ghosting down Wilson’s cheek. “I mentioned a spreader bar before, correct?”

Staring blankly at the distant ceiling, where shadows seemed to writhe and cavort, Wilson nodded. 

* * *

A few minutes later and Sionis was buckling dark leather cuffs tight around Wilson’s ankles. Only once he had finished did Wilson shift, testing the new limitations on his movement; the metal bar held firm, and Wilson found it odd not being able to close his legs. 

“Well, isn’t this nice,” crooned Sionis, placing a hand on Wilson’s inner thigh. “You’re all tied up, just for me.” The hand moved higher. “Seeing you so subdued...well, to say that I  _ like it _ would be an understatement.”

Wilson pressed half his face against the bedsheets when Sionis reached up between his legs. Even through the glove, Sionis’ exploratory touch felt more than hot enough to burn, and Wilson recalled the Rogue’s vulpine insinuation that he would brand him. 

“Does that feel good, sweetheart?” There was a velvet edge to Sionis’ words, and that more than anything made Wilson shudder.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Sionis. The teeth of his mask were smooth against Wilson’s parted lips when they met. A kiss from Sionis--like every other aspect of Black Mask--was meant to conquer and claim. But that no longer seemed so terrible.

Without warning, Sionis slid a finger into the mercenary’s tight heat. “How about this, then?”

Wilson bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood.  _ Which should I be thinking: ‘don’t, stop’ or ‘don’t stop’? _ At that moment, all he knew for certain was that repulsion and desire made for strange bedfellows. It seemed appropriate, considering.

“In all honesty, Mr. Sionis,” Wilson finally said into the mattress, “I’d rather you just fuck me.” 

“Oh?” Sionis said, slipping a second finger into Wilson. The bound man’s hips jerked; Sionis laid a steadying hand flat on his pelvis, dark mask seeming to twist into a smirk. “And here I thought that foreplay would be especially important for a man like you. Do you want it to hurt when I put my cock in you?”

“I…” 

Even in Wilson’s mind, the denial sounded false. He was distantly aware that his legs were shaking as Sionis’ fingers moved within him. It was hard to think--but that was a good thing, wasn’t it?

“...I do.” What did it matter whether it was an admission or another falsehood when, either way, Wilson couldn't bring himself to look at the Rogue? “Does what I want matter now, Mr. Sionis?”

“Oh, sweetheart...” Sionis pulled his fingers out of Wilson long enough to join him on the bed, kneeling between his splayed legs before pushing both digits back inside. Neither action was particularly gentle; Wilson couldn’t say he minded. Sionis bent low over the mercenary, voice molten in the ear of his prey.  _ “Only because our interests happen to coincide.” _ Laughter. “Aren’t we  _ lucky?” _

“I suppose we are, Mr. Sionis.” Wilson’s chest felt hollow, and he hoped the sensation would spread throughout the rest of his body soon. It would be better than the crushing pressure of the spider’s web, the pull of so many wretched strings. Anything Black Mask could do to him would be better than that.  _ Though I suspect he’ll make me feel more  _ full  _ than  _ hollow. _ Hah. _

Sionis silenced Wilson’s thoughts by catching his mouth in a rough kiss. “Ah,” he purred when they parted, hovering close enough to share breath. “That reminds me: you’re going to address me as  _ ‘sir’ _ from now on.” Another kiss, and Sionis tasted metal rather than whiskey. “Do you understand?”

Wilson’s lips curled up into something resembling a smile, his eye devoid of life.

“Yes, sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come holler at me on lizard-hair.tumblr.com
> 
> Also if I write a chapter 2 for this I'm going to toss myself into outer space in shame.
> 
> Edit June 5 2020: god fucking damn it


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